


The Art of Demonic Dissection

by Thousand_Ribbons (Meridians_of_Madness)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dark Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mindfuck, Sadist Aziraphale (Good Omens), Telepathy, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, kicking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29082030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Thousand_Ribbons
Summary: Aziraphale loves Crowley far too much to gut him emotionally and play in the pieces. Fortunately, Crowley's theonlyone he loves like that.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	The Art of Demonic Dissection

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sorrow and Sighs and Mickle Care](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21668989) by [Vitreous_Humor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitreous_Humor/pseuds/Vitreous_Humor). 



Away from the bookshop and out of Hell, Medoc looked startlingly normal, a neat young man with dark messy hair and very good posture. He was almost as tall as Crowley, but few people would think it, even given how Crowley slouched and sprawled while Medoc kept himself upright and as closed off as he could.

Well. Not _entirely_ as much as he could.

He was obviously uneasy under Crowley's gaze, but he sat perfectly still, patient to see what kind of poison Crowley was planning to offer him.

“It's not poison,” Crowley felt the need to point out. “S'just a flat white. Espresso, bit of steamed milk. You should try it. It's nice.”

Obligingly, Medoc took a sip, but he put it down again almost immediately.

“You didn't bring me here to give me something nice,” he said, and Crowley winced.

“Maybe I did. I wanted to be sure you knew you didn't have to. Tonight, I mean.”

“I never have to,” Medoc said, a little sullenly, and Crowley found himself heartened by that. He liked Medoc sullen and recalcitrant, even mean and angry. It was the other that was so hard to take.

“Do you want to?” he asked, and Medoc glared, his eyes entirely black, a night without stars.

“We're not there yet,” Medoc said. “Stay out.”

Crowley held up his open hands, shaking his head.

“Not me. I wouldn't go in there without asking you first. Professional courtesy, if nothing else.”

Medoc gave him a closer look, and Crowley tolerated the light tapping of claws and the brush of softer than soft fur in his head.

“You're sorry,” Medoc said with some surprise. “You're sorry this is happening at all.”

“Well, yeah. Not really a secret, is it? This is horrifying.”

“You're doing it anyway.”

Crowley let Medoc see him wince. The other demon deserved that much at least.

“It's not my horror. It's yours.”

“Like you wouldn't let this happen to you if he asked,” Medoc said bitterly.

“He wouldn't let this happen to me,” Crowley said with deliberate cruelty. “And you need to know that.”

For a moment, Crowley thought that had done it, that that would finally send Medoc back to Hell and safer pleasures. Maybe he would put all that terrible pain into making something of himself below, or find someone who could treat him, not right, but less terribly. Maybe he would disappear, and Crowley and his angel would never hear from him again.

Instead, Medoc recovered, and Crowley sighed.

“I always wonder how many heartbreaks it'll take before you quit,” he said, rising up from the table and tossing down some crumpled bills to pay for their untouched drinks.

“How many do you think?”

Crowley took Medoc's cold hand in his, kissing his palm regretfully.

“At least one more after this one. Come on. He's waiting.”

-

Crowley summoned a roaring fire in the bookshop's hearth, because if they were going to do this, they might as well be warm. He could feel Medoc's gaze on him as he poked needlessly at the flames, and then Aziraphale came down the stairs, and Medoc had eyes for no one but him.

“Well, isn't this nice,” Aziraphale said with some pleasure. “Very lovely, my dear, thank you.”

Crowley muttered something in reply, and Aziraphale bustled over to the liquor cabinet, the bottles chiming as he shifted them about.

“I think I'm in the mood for some brandy tonight,” he said cheerfully. “The Gran Duque d’Alba, that's just the ticket. Would you care for some, Crowley?”

“Ah, none for me, angel. Kind of want to be clear-headed tonight, if it's all the same to you.”

“So very responsible of you, dear boy,” said Aziraphale, pouring himself a generous snifter and bringing it to his writing desk. For tonight, it had been pulled from its usual place and placed just a short distance from the sofa where Medoc sat now, fingers playing with the fringe on the cushions, following Aziraphale's every motion with his quick dark gaze. Aziraphale ignored him, settling down at the desk and taking a few moments to lay out his paper and to select his favorite fountain pen from the drawer. It was only when he was satisfied that he turned to Crowley with an expectant smile.

“Still on board, my dear?” he asked affectionately, and Crowley nodded, because worse would happen if he wasn't.

“Good. At your leisure, then.”

 _No, not just mine,_ Crowley thought, and he went to sit on the sofa besides Medoc.

Medoc had finally stopped dressing like him, thank Satan for small favors. His dark clothes were sharp and more formal than most demons up to do a spot of temptation, but Crowley remembered that Medoc was more often out of Hell than other demons. He was probably on assignment now, shirking on top of whatever this was.

Crowley took a deep breath, his eyes shuttering for a moment before he leaned in to touch his fingertips to Medoc's check. It steadied him slightly as Crowley leaned in for a kiss. It was the gentlest thing, little more than a brush of his mouth over Medoc's, but it was enough to make Medoc flinch, unable to stay still, too tamed to pull away.

“Yeah?” he asked, because fallen didn't mean soulless.

“Mm.”

Medoc nodded, and Crowley wasn't so brutal he'd ask for more.

“All right, bunny. Come on.”

It wasn't an easy thing for demons to open for each other, and Crowley shifted closer to Medoc on the couch, kissing him with persistent tenderness as the locks opened one by one, just a press of scales and the intimation of a sharp fang.

“Ah,” Crowley breathed after several long minutes. “There you are.”

He swept his fingers through Medoc's dark hair, his fingers knitting firmly to Medoc's scalp as he tilted his head back slightly.

“He's keeping himself calm right in this moment,” Crowley reported back. “He's not thinking back and not thinking forward. He's shaving this down as narrowly as he can.”

“Why?” asked Aziraphale, watching with interest.

“I s'pose because nothing hurts right now, not really,” Crowley said.”Not yet.”

Medoc's breath came a little harder, and Crowley smoothed his fingers through his hair before leaning in to nuzzle the point of his jaw. Despite his calm, Medoc's pulse jumped at Crowley touch, rabbit-fast, panic leashed so it could past for excitement if Crowley wasn't sinking deeper into him.

“Being kissed here feels good,” Crowley said quietly. “It scares him, though. Too many teeth right next to his throat, and too many people who have liked to bite. I won't do it anymore.”

“You can if you want to,” Medoc said, and Crowley met his eyes levelly.

“He doesn't want me to, but he'd let me because saying no, in his experience, brings worse things.”

Medoc stared at him, lips slightly parted as if he had had no idea how this would strike him or how shocking the hurt might be. Crowley let it go by, and he leaned in to brush a kiss over the sharp edge of Medoc's chin and nuzzling his cheek.

“If you don't like it, I'll stop,” Crowley murmured, and Medoc shuddered all over, one hand coming up to cling to a fold Crowley's jacket. The gesture was instinctive, entreating, and Crowley sighed, leaning into Medoc's body. This close, there was no mistaking Medoc for anything but a demon, and despite what he had with Aziraphale, something in Crowley cried out in pleasure and recognition.

“There, sweetheart,” Crowley murmured, ruffling his fingers through Medoc's hair. “It's all right, isn't it?”

Medoc nodded once, jerky and quick, and Crowley tilted his face up with a finger at his chin.

“You can tell me if it's not, darling,” Crowley said as gently as he could. “Please tell me.”

A shudder went through Medoc, and Aziraphale made an inquiring noise.

“He's trying to keep me out,” Crowley said reluctantly. “Trying to have it both ways. He wants this, and at the same time, well. He's not an idiot. He knows what this means, and what it's for.”

“It's for me,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, and Crowley and Medoc both flinched.

“Yeah, he knows that, and he knows how it's going to go. So he's trying to keep me out and let me in all at once.”

“Will that work?”

Medoc exhaled, a swift dry breath by Crowley's ear. He turned to press his face against Crowley's, and Crowley stroked the back of his neck.

“No, of course it won't.”

“Ah. Please continue.”

Crowley tilted Medoc's face up for another kiss, this one deeper, but still inquisitive, still gentle. Medoc's hands were fisted on his lap, and Crowley cupped his own over them, warming them, carefully prying them open to rest relaxed before twining their fingers together.

“I want-”

“Go on, sweetheart,” Crowley murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Tell me.”

Medoc shook his head, and Crowley let it go for the moment. Instead, he unfastened the front of Medoc's shirt, spreading the fabric open to reveal smooth pale skin with more muscle than might be suspected from his lanky frame. He shivered at Crowley's first touch, but didn't flinch away, and when Crowley stroked his flanks in long and soothing motions, he he sighed into it, loosening by inches.

“He's letting go bit by bit,” Crowley reported, leaning in kiss the center of Medoc's chest and to trail his mouth lower. “Can't help it. It's beginning to feel a little like he's drunk It feels good. _I_ feel good to him.”

Medoc's hands landed on Crowley's shoulders, tensed, but a quick tsking sound from Aziraphale froze him, made him settle them on Crowley without pushing.

“He wonders if it would be better if I hurt him. He knows what that's like, demons hurting him, and he knows how to get his own back sometimes. He's got nothing that would defend against this.”

Crowley paused.

“He _is_ nothing.”

“Is that Medoc, or is that you own professional opinion?” asked Aziraphale with amusement.

“His,” Crowley said right away. “Only his.”

“And what do you think, my love?”

“That he's very pretty,” Crowley said hollowly. “He... he doesn't like hearing that.”

“But he is,” Aziraphale said guilelessly, and there it went, an inferno of longing and hurt and desperation at even that little bit of praise. Oh, but there were times when Crowley could just walk out and leave this behind, this cruelty and this willing blindness, because snake or not, tempter or not, there were some poisons that even he couldn't take. Then he took a deep breath and continued stripping Medoc, working methodically and dropping kisses over the flesh he bared.

“It's really just patience he needs,” Crowley found himself saying. “Someone could talk him into nearly anything if only they were patient enough, sweet enough. Once in a while, someone does.”

“Most don't bother,” Medoc said unexpectedly, his tone chilly. “I'm a sure thing.”

“I've never been patient with him,” mused Aziraphale, making a note.

Crowley laid Medoc on the couch, kneeling on the floor beside him, running his hand down the length of Medoc's chest and briefly palming his cock

“You don't need to be,” he said, and he was losing the thread a little, sunk firmly enough in Medoc's desires now that they were a touch hard to tell from his own. He knew what Medoc wanted as well as he knew what he wanted, and he shuddered.

“Hey,” he said. “It's all right, okay? It's fine, I promise. I'll take such good care of you. I won't let anything bad happen to you.”

“Liar,” Medoc whispered and Crowley nodded even as he leaned in to trail kisses down the center of his chest.

His own body was rousing now, and Crowley felt slightly betrayed. He could tell himself that it was just Medoc, contagious with his desires in the way some demons were, but he knew better. He hoped it was just the physicality arousing him, skin against skin, the way Medoc's hand came up to curl around his shoulder with almost shy need. Otherwise, it would be closer to what was coming off of Aziraphale right now, and he couldn't bear that.

He rolled up to stretch his clothed body over Medoc's bare one, moving against him lazily as they kissed. Time and sweetness sustained could convince Medoc of nearly anything, and that included letting Crowley in further, letting him see more.

“Oh, bunny,” Crowley breathed, kissing his cheek and putting it off for another moment. They both knew it was coming, of _course_ Medoc knew, but still he clung to Crowley, eyes shut tight.

“Sorry,” Crowley whispered in his hear.

Then he straddled Medoc's hips, winding up and landing a brutal slap on the other demon's face. It was hard enough to leave an instant hand print on his cheek, and he was lucky that Crowley had hit high enough it hadn't split his lip.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, shocked, and Crowley fisted his hand in Medoc's hair, dragging him up roughly.

“Here's the thing about Medoc,” Crowley said, his voice measured and cold. “All that sweet stuff, he doesn't deserve it. He knows he doesn't. He knows how he should be treated, and it feels, not better than the other, but more right. At least he can take this. Can't you, bunny? Take this, I mean.”

He half-dragged, half-dropped, Medoc on the floor, glancing a kick off his ribs. It wasn't a hard kick at all, but Medoc gasped, and Crowley sighed.

“All this and hard for it,” he said, shaking his head. “He needs this as much as he needs the other. Couldn't separate them out if he tried, and he has tried. Thank Satan I know what to do with you, don't I?” Medoc nodded, but Crowley didn't pause before shoving him over the seat of the couch. He was shaking now, and Crowley swallowed.

“That's repressed instinct,” he informed Aziraphale. “Wants to run. Can't.”

“Won't?” asked Aziraphale, and Crowley went to kneel behind Medoc, raking sharp nails down his back.

“Same thing for him,” Crowley said. “Stubborn in his own way.”

Medoc was crying now, utterly silent and wrapped up in a sadness that was too wrapped up with arousal. Crowley resisted the urge to pet his hair and tell him it really would be all right, because, well. It wouldn't be.

Instead, he pulled his own cock out of his jeans, slicking it with a single pass of his hand. He was glad he was so tangled in Medoc's needs right now because otherwise he would have to think of his own, and _no._

With one hand fisted in Medoc's hair, he used the other to guide himself in, sinking into him with a deep groan, ignoring the way the body underneath him stiffened and jerked with the pain of his entry. Crowley winced, not sharing Medoc's pain, but wrapped up in it.

“My dear, are you all right?” asked Aziraphale, rising slightly from the desk. “Do you need to stop? I certainly do not want you in pain just for my fun...”

Crowley shook his head, ignoring the longing and jealousy that rose up at the angel's concerned words.

“Sit back down, angel, it's fine. Just... ah.”

He set a brutal pace, shoving into Medoc while grabbing tight hold of his hips. He let his fingers dig in too hard, let his claws out to leave welts.

“He wants this to mean something,” Crowley growled through gritted teeth. “Every time, he wants it to mean something, that if he takes this, maybe he earns the rest. Maybe if it hurts enough, maybe if it stings and tears and terrifies, it'll be enough. Someday, please _God,_ let it be enough.”

This time, Medoc did thrash at Crowley's words, but Crowley grabbed up his wrist, twisting it up tight against his back.

“No,” Crowley said harshly. “Lie still. You deserve this. You asked for it. You would have _begged_ for it if I wanted you to. You're going to take this, you _miserable_ little whore...”

Crowley let himself get lost in the sensations, physical and otherwise. It was like being tossed around by a maelstrom, always on the verge of getting ripped to bits. It was a power trip, the pure knowledge that there were no defenses between them now. It was fucking and hurting another demon like a human might, and that dizzied him.

He finally came, digging his nails tight into Medoc's skin, and it was better than it had any right to be. It was pleasure not just in the sensation, but in the hurt and the fear and what he knew came next.

He pulled out, not heeding the mess, and for a moment simply sat back on his heels, breathing hard. He was sweating under his clothes, uncomfortable in the wreckage of what they had done, and he shook his head.

“Ain't you a job and a half,” he said in something like his normal voice, and Medoc twitched.

He started to rise, but Crowley simply pulled him up on the couch, lying down with him and holding him tight. There was a moment where Medoc went stiff, hurt and overwhelmed and afraid, when Crowley thought he really would call the whole thing off, but then he melted against him, clinging to him with a desperation that made Crowley ache.

“Hey, hey, it's all right,” Crowley said quietly. “You're okay. You're fine. Just breathe, all right, sweetheart? I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Crowley glanced up to see Aziraphale with his chin cupped in his hand, not writing now but watching the two of them almost dreamily. There was a slight smile on his face, and Crowley, no more resistant to love than anyone else in the room, felt a deep and helpless rush of it for the angel, grateful for the fact that that love was _all_ Aziraphale could feel. Things were seldom uncomplicated for any demon.

“It's going to be all right, no one's going to hurt you anymore. I'm here. It's all right, it's just fine. You're done. I love you. I love you so much, I won't let anything happen to you...”

At some point, Aziraphale rose up, stowing his pen and tidying up his papers.

“Well, that was lovely and thought-provoking, Crowley. Thank you so much for your efforts.”

“No problem, angel. You heading upstairs?”

“Yes, I think so. Would you care to join me?”

Medoc stirred fretfully in his arms, and Crowley rubbed small soothing circles over his back.

“Will in a bit. Figured I'd just walk this one back to the station.”

“As you like,” Aziraphale said lightly, and as he passed by, he squeezed Crowley's shoulder lightly. Crowley listened as Aziraphale made his way up the stairs at the back of the shop, only relaxing his grip on Medoc when he heard the door upstairs open and close.

A few minutes later, Crowely sat up, nudging Medoc until he did as well. They both snapped themselves back to presentable condition, and as he said he would, Crowley escorted Medoc to the nearest tube station. They walked side by side with together for several blocks before Medoc spoke.

“You didn't tell him,” Medoc said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. The Soho foot-traffic quick even for this time of night, parted around without a pause, the demons invisible, but Crowley took Medoc by the arm and pulled him into the nearby alley.

“Don't _do_ that, don't stop in the middle of the pavement,” Crowley said, frazzled. “It makes you look like a tourist.”  
Medoc waited, and Crowley sighed, dragging his hands down his face.

“No. No, all right, I didn't. What now, do me to head back to the shop and tell him? Do _you_ want do it ?”

Medoc shook his head slowly, because that was one little fact that absolutely would _not_ please Aziraphale, who loved the whole world but was also one of the most selfish and possessive beings on it.

“I don't want him to know,” Medoc said looking away, and Crowley nodded.

“Great. We agree. It'll be our little secret, then.”

“Secrets from your spouse? We all know where that goes,” Medoc said, but it was a half-hearted thing and Crowley knew it. Nothing was going to come of it, especially if it stayed a secret. Pray Satan it stayed a secret.

“Sorry,” Medoc said. “I know I shouldn't be.”

“I doubt you can help it,” Crowley replied stiffly. “Someone says those things to you, and you don't have to explain to me. I've been mucking around in you all night. I know how much you want...”

“First Tempter, shut up.”

Crowley went silent in surprise, and Medoc shook his head angrily.

“I'm not an idiot, no matter what you both think. I know what those nice words and those kisses do to me, and I know what I'll do for them. I want it enough to do almost anything for it, and I'm telling you, it has nothing to do with this.”

“But-”

Medoc shrugged.

“You know how I fell in love with the angel, don't you?”

'Yeah. He beat you into the ground.”

“Right. And what do you think you did tonight?”

Crowley knew, and he knew he deserved this. He was quiet, and Medoc shoved his hands deep in his pockets, looking away.

“I can find my own way from here,” he said. “Thanks for walking me out.”

Crowley took a deep breath, nodded, and after a moment, walked back to the bookshop.

**Author's Note:**

> -Medoc borrowed from [Vitreous_Humor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitreous_Humor/)


End file.
